


more loving than the rising sun

by the_ragnarok



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Crying, D/s, Impact Play, M/M, Praise Kink, praise edge play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 09:43:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17201177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: John rolls his eyes. "It's called masochism, Harold. I'm not supposed to be enjoying it."





	more loving than the rising sun

Harold pauses between strikes. "Would you like me to go harder?"

"Yes," John says, through gritted teeth. He's not sure why this is so difficult. He knows he can take more than this, even in purely recreational settings.

A few hits later, Harold stops again. "Are you actually enjoying this?"

John rolls his eyes. "It's called masochism, Harold. I'm not supposed to be enjoying it."

Even as the words leave his mouth, he knows he's made a tactical mistake. Harold is now completely still behind him, and John wishes he could see Harold's face. "I beg to differ," Harold says, a moment later. "If you don't enjoy it, please enlighten me as to why you asked for it."

This is probably the answer to John's earlier question. This is hard because Harold is making it hard, needlessly. "Are you trying to kinkshame me, Harold?"

"I'm trying to understand." Harold is sounding tense. "As far as I can tell, masochism refers to finding some benefit in pain. Tell me," and now his voice changes, going more academic: penetrating, somehow. John shivers. "What would an ideal scene look like?"

They've been over this already. "You hit me until I can't take it anymore," John says. He feels obscurely ashamed of this, too, how demanding he is.

"And what are you feeling, beside pain?" Harold presses. "Are you seeking catharsis? Do you want me to make you cry, John?"

Well, now John does. "That wasn't the original plan," John says, slightly thick-tongued.

"Then what?"

Harold has one hand warm on John's back, rubbing slow circles, like maybe he doesn't even notice he's touching John. It makes John want to try hard for him, to come up with an answer, and that in and of itself _is_ the answer: "I want to be good," John says, low and quiet.

Harold's rubbing hand doesn't stop. "And what does that entail?"

"If I take everything you give me, if I go until I really can't anymore. Then I'm being good."

"But you are good." Harold sounds confused, like John is spouting nonsense. It doesn't stop John from gasping, so ashamed of wanting the words he has to hide his face between his arms.

Harold's hand rises up John's back and curls in his hair, gripping without pulling. "John." And now Harold sounds sharp, full of authority. "You are good. Say it."

John shakes.

"I know it's hard." Harold's voice gentles. "But you are very good for me, and you can do hard things. Say you are good."

He can't; he isn't. And yet Harold is asking this of him, and how can John refuse him? Almost inaudibly, he says, "I'm good."

"Again, John. Louder this time."

It was easier to be beaten. But this is better, too, an ache that hits only exactly where John needs it. "I'm good." Tears slip out of his eyes.

"You are," Harold says, and John sobs. "You are. Now say it again."

Harold makes him repeat the words three times more before he decides John has had enough. He unties John and brings him up to hug him.

John buries his face in Harold's neck, sniffling. "This is ridiculous," he mutters. "I can't believe I'm--"

"Having a powerful response to what is apparently a deep seated emotional issue?" Harold snorts. "Yes, how unlikely."

John kind of wants to smack Harold, but far less than he wants to cuddle up to him and have Harold continue to pet his hair like this. "I never cry during scenes."

"Should I have stopped?" Uncertainty clouds Harold's voice. "You mentioned earlier--"

"It was perfect," John says, just on the edge of audibility.

Harold doesn't make him repeat it. He doesn't even make John agree when he says, matter of fact, "You were perfect," and John sheds a couple more tears at the kindness of it.


End file.
